The Myth of Money
(A reframing for artists in a metrics-obsessed world)
There’s a phrase that follows artists like a shadow:
“You’ll never make real money doing that.”
“You’ll never make real money doing that.”
Or its adult-sounding cousin:
“Artists will always be poor.”
The implication is clear: that to choose art is to forfeit legitimacy, or worse—security.
But here’s the thing: when you look closer at what’s considered “wealth” in modern society, the metrics get murky fast.
Most of what people chase under the label of success—money, scale, reach—are not rooted in anything material at all.
“The sum total of money in the world is about $60 trillion, yet the sum total of coins and banknotes is less than $6 trillion. More than 90 percent of all money—more than $50 trillion appearing in our accounts—exists only on computer servers. Most business transactions are executed by moving electronic data from one computer file to another, without any exchange of physical cash. Only a criminal buys a house, for example, by handing over a suitcase full of banknotes.”
— Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind,
Chapter 10: The Scent of Money (2014), Harper.
Chapter 10: The Scent of Money (2014), Harper.
Money, as we use it today, is an abstraction. A shared fiction.
It's real because we believe in it, not because it physically exists.
It's real because we believe in it, not because it physically exists.
And yet that fiction dictates who gets to speak, create, rest, or survive.
What We’re Really Chasing
Ask most people what they’d do with money and you won’t get numbers—you’ll get feelings:
- “I want to feel secure.”
- “I want to feel respected.”
- “I want to finally have time.”
- “I want to do something that matters.”
These aren’t financial goals.
They’re emotional coordinates—ones that artists, ironically, have been navigating their entire lives. Without a roadmap.
They’re emotional coordinates—ones that artists, ironically, have been navigating their entire lives. Without a roadmap.
The Divergence Point
There’s a moment—usually post-education—when the world forks.
Some go the path of calculated safety: salaries, hierarchies, compliance.
Others—artists, misfits, spiritual types—ask different questions:
“What would I still do if no one paid me?”
These aren’t romantic questions.
They’re dangerous ones.
They disrupt systems.
They’re hard to monetise.
But they’re also the questions that people in their forties and fifties eventually ask—often after a health scare, an affair, or a burnout crash that blows their “success” narrative to pieces.
They’re dangerous ones.
They disrupt systems.
They’re hard to monetise.
But they’re also the questions that people in their forties and fifties eventually ask—often after a health scare, an affair, or a burnout crash that blows their “success” narrative to pieces.
Artists just get there first.
Paper Wealth, Burned Fast
In a world obsessed with appearances, paper wealth has become a kind of social armor.
But paper burns quickly when things get real.
But paper burns quickly when things get real.
Just look at the recent collapse of public figures, founders, and thought leaders who once “looked great on LinkedIn.”
Many of them had the numbers.
What they didn’t have was a nervous system that could hold the life they'd built.
Meanwhile, artists—despite living on tighter margins—often develop emotional muscles early:
- Learning to sit with rejection.
- Making peace with ambiguity.
- Staying close to truth when trends reward convenience.
That doesn’t always translate to income.
But it does translate to resilience, and more importantly, alignment.
But it does translate to resilience, and more importantly, alignment.
So… Should Artists Stay Broke?
No. That’s not the point.
The point is this:
If you’re an artist, don’t outsource your sense of worth to a system that wasn’t built for your blueprint.
Yes, learn to earn.
Yes, build systems that support you.
But do it from inner congruence, not reaction.
Yes, build systems that support you.
But do it from inner congruence, not reaction.
Just because someone has six figures on their sales page doesn’t mean they have six minutes of true inner stillness.
You don’t need to become someone else to be worthy.
You need to see differently.
That’s what you were trained for.
That’s what artists have always done.
You need to see differently.
That’s what you were trained for.
That’s what artists have always done.
Long before we had data.
We had vision.
We had vision.
What About Actually Making Money??
Fair question.
But would you believe this:
1. Your ability to generate income is a skill is something you are a lot more qualified to do than you realise?
2. It also depends more on your internal orientation than your marketing hacks?
When your subconscious runs on recognition instead of panic, you start seeing options you couldn’t see before.
“Tat Tvam Asi.”
That Thou Art.You are not separate from the reality you experience.
Change how you see, and the world changes with you.
--Upanishads (ancient Sanskrit text)
And If That Sounds Like Woo?
Fairplay.
But there is a lot more science to it than many of us realise.
The human brain is wired to identify, seek, and find more 'evidence' to confirm its beliefs.
Some call this 'confirmation bias'.
(Others made whole movies and near cult-like followings in the name of 'Law of Attraction').
But neuroscience confirms the one thing that many are not talking about: if you're nervous system is hyperstimulated, in fight-flight-freeze mode, or just tired, its ability to identify 'possibilites' suffers. It falls back on baseline functions that are simply primal survival instincts. Instincts meant to provide us with primal protection from ancient dangers like wild animals, natural catastrophes and starvation.
Not creativity.
Which brings up the pertinent question every artist should ask: is the 'starving artist' paradigm so deeply embedded in our psyche that it might be impairing our powers of observation? Discernment?
Is it possible that we are part of a dichotomy wherein we dedicate our lives to creating 'art', but handicap ourselves when it comes to using the same skill to build wealth?
Conclusion:
The phrase “Artists will always be poor” was never about truth.
It was about measurement—and what we’ve been conditioned to measure.
It was about measurement—and what we’ve been conditioned to measure.
When wealth is reduced to what fits on paper, what gets lost is everything that gives paper its value in the first place: trust, feeling, attention, presence, meaning.
And artists have always dealt in those currencies.
So no—this is not a manifesto for staying broke.
It’s a reminder not to outsource your definition of worth to people still trying to buy their way out of the questions you’ve already faced.
You're not behind.
You’re early.
You’re early.
And in a collapsing world built on vanishing numbers, that might be the only real wealth left.
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